“Pretty/Ugly”

“How do you tell someone that is out of your league, that you’re working to be in their league, and that they should be with you?”

“Oooh, you like her — I knew it.”

“Come on, Cap, I’m serious. You don’t even know who it is.”

“Oh, yes, I do, Madge.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You’re always Madge when you have a newbie in your radar; you’re Magic in the Finals — embrace your destiny,” Cap slapped my back and squeezed a shoulder with his John Henry, railroad worker hands. “Okay, okay, who is she?”

“Remember when we shot out to Barrel from Player’s Club a few weeks ago?” Cap is sitting at my desk, husky ass elbows all over drafts I’ve typed up and saved, but still; hands holding his meat head up by his thick, cowhide cheeks; the brightest smile like when we would wait for dinner at the table and it was liver and onion day. “Turns out that shorty’s brokerage is next door.” Cap’s eyes lit up.

“Man, you mean she’s been in your lap the whole time and you still haven’t pet her?”

“We just met two weeks ago.”

“How does that even happen?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I usually open up from the front, and she parks in the back; got a little E350. Tall, thick — ”